Unforgettable
by NancyMay
Summary: A soldier meets a nurse, WW1 the rest is history. A slightly AU meeting and summary of two detectives. Now to be updated on a story by story basis. Short stories featuring Phryne-Rose. Also published on AO3, AStitchinTime is my other pen name, in case anyone is worried about plagiarism on either side.
1. Chapter 1

**March 1918:**

"What's your name?" he fastened his uniform trousers.

"Why?" she paused in doing up her blouse, "after how many fucks do you want to know my name?"

He shrugged, "you have made me realise that life is for living, that giving up is not an option. I want to remember you, even if you don't want to remember me."

She shrugged her shoulders, "Phryne," she sighed, "my name is Phryne."

"Who'd name such a gorgeous creature after a toad?"

"My father," she found his suggestion amusing, "he was drunk when he registered my birth.

"More fool him," he pulled his jacked on, "I would have thought Aphrodite, or Athene ... you are strong and beautiful."

"So why do you want to know?"

"If I have a daughter I intend to name her after you."

"Pah!" she snorted, "as if you'll remember."

"Oh, I will," he grinned, "you are not forgettable, Nurse Phryne."

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**April 1919:**

He didn't forget, and his wife didn't mind the name, in fact she liked it. He was rather glad she was not a student of the classics and the idea of such an extraordinary name made her smile. Phryne-Rose, it flowed and she grew.

When his wife died, attempting to provide him with another child; a boy; he clung to his daughter, vowing to see she continued to learn and grow and inquire, to exasperate and frustrate him - and he loved her. His mother came to look after the child, feed and clothe her, see she attended school and teach her how to be a young lady.

All was well with his world ... until ...

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She was always there, always with a quip, a smirk a flirt. Deeper understanding of the human condition - all wrapped up in her need, her desperate need to find out how and why her sister was killed ; and where she was buried. When the truth came out it had been he who had been there, who had offered the solid shoulder at the graveside and the gentle smile at her birthday party and all because he knew ...

How many Phrynes were there in the world? How many had those deep green eyes, that dark hair and that high laugh? How many and seen the things she had seen? Only one, but he didn't want to believe it, it was too much of a coincidence.

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He sat in his office at City South contemplating the latest case, how she had pointed him in the right direction and then, when the perpetrator was brought to book, namely his former father in law, and between them they had save a group of young girls from white slavery she had blithely asked him to dine with her. True he had eaten at her table, drank her whisky and spent evenings paying draughts with her, and his mother had asked questions - searching questions - questions he didn't want to answer, questions he wasn't sure what the answers really were.

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**April 1929**:

It was Phryne-Rose's tenth birthday.

So much had happened, so many thoughts had been thought, and yet he still hadn't said his daughter's name. She knew he had a daughter and that he was widowed and she had grown to appreciate him as a person, a police officer, an intelligent and well read man and perhaps she was a little bit in love with him.

Ok, maybe more than a little bit, but she didn't have relationships, she had quick flings, fancies, one night stands; took lovers and flirted, she did not form long standing relationships - ever! Until now ...

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"Dad!" she burst into the office, "dad, it's all gone wrong!" she collapsed into the visitor's chair and sobbed.

"What?" he as beside her in an instant, "Phryne-Rose, what's happened?"

"Grandma phoned the restaurant to confirm the reservations and they didn't answer, so she went," she sniffed and hiccupped, "and they are closed, until further notice - pa! what's goin' on?"

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Two or three restaurants had been hit by gang pressure and closed. He had dealt with the smuggling of illicit booze and provisions with his well connected 'friend', but he didn't know that this particular restaurant was on the list. His only recourse - that amazing woman he tried to keep out of his family life.

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"I wouldn't ask ..."

"Of course you wouldn't Inspector," she smiled down the phone in the hall, "but as you have ... give me an hour and your daughter shall have her birthday."

"Thank you," he sighed a deep sigh, much as he hated to admit it, when you needed something doing ...

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"Oh, Miss Fisher," Phryne-Rose flopped onto the couch in the parlour. It had been a rip-roaring success. A dinner at a fabulous restaurant with a perfectly decorated cake organised by the woman her father declined to name, "thank you, I shall be the envy of my friends ... but," she sat up, "I don't give a damn about them ..."

"You don't?" Miss Fisher gasped, unused to children's prophetic declarations.

"Nah," the child shook her head, "there's friends and there's friends, so pa says, and youse the one who comes up trumps, a proper friend."

Her father winced and gulped. but Miss Fisher threw back her head and laughed out loud.

"We go back a long way," she held out her hand.

"We do?"

"I am sure this is the only other 'Phryne' in the world. and a certain Lieutenant once asked me my name after ..."

Jack blanched at the idea she would explain.

"... I had attended to an injury he had ... in the war."

"You ..."

"I was an ambulance driver and nurse during the war..."

"Oh, right, I see," Phryne-Rose hummed. "So ..."

"He said he would name his daughter after me ..."

"Your name is ..."

"Phryne Fisher," Phryne held out her hand, "delighted to meet you, Phryne Robinson."

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**July 1931**:

"Thank you," Jack kissed her softly, "for everything. For my daughter, for my life ... I love you so much."

"And I love you, darling Inspector," she smiled up at him, "for the rest of my life."

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Life, she thought, had a way of dealing one a curved ball, but she would take that every time, to lie next to her husband, Jack Robinson, and promise him a son ... because what Phryne Fisher Robinson wanted, Phryne Fisher Robinson got.


	2. 10

It was late when Jack finally got his daughter, Phryne-Rose, home. Prising her out of Miss Fisher's parlour was harder than stopping Miss Fisher attending a crime scene. Her birthday dinner, organised by Phryne herself after the original had fallen through, had been a roaring success. A delicious meal at a restaurant especially opened for her, with her father and grandmother, and Phryne Fisher herself, had been more than she could have wished for. They had even made a fabulous cake for her.

Jack should have known when he had asked Miss Fisher, in desperation, to help him after the restaurant his mother had booked had been closed, that it would be more elaborate, more fashionable than they would usually attend.

He'd tried to keep his private life away from his professional life, including Miss Fisher, but it was inevitable that one day his daughter would meet her namesake. There had been times when she had seen the Honourable Phryne Fisher's name in the papers and she had asked if she was named after her.

"After all, dad," she tipped her head, so like him his mother often noted, "how many Phryne's are there in the world?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat, "I expect there are more than you think," he turned his attention to her mathematics homework in order to distract her.

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When Jack had come home from the war settling back down to life as a copper hadn't been easy but he had managed it. Rosie, his wife, had been supportive as much as she could and they had muddled through. He worked hard and he still loved her and when his daughter was born and he asked to name her Phryne-Rose she had smiled and said it was rather unusual and she liked it. He liked to keep his promises even though there was little chance he would ever see the original Phryne again ... or so he thought.

When she blew into his life, like a tropical storm, he didn't know whether he was surprised or not. She was even more lovely than he remembered her and he was not in the least regretful of their past 'meetings', even though he had been unfaithful to his wife. Rosie had died six years previously so it was easy to be comfortable in her company, to accept her dinner invitations, post case whisky and draughts. He often wondered if she recognised him, she never gave him the least suspicion. True she flirted with him, but he was a widower, so he actually enjoyed the attention, not that he wanted her to know that.

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Phryne Fisher may have been a freight train, a charming one at that, but she could also be subtle, astute, and when she happened across Inspector Jack Robinson in Lydia Andrews' bathroom she recognised his need not to be recognised - by her.

Phryne had an almost photographic memory for faces and she had never forgotten Jack, the soldier who declared he was going to name his daughter after her. Until they had worked a few cases together she wasn't sure if he had any children, of either gender. He let it slip one night, after they found Janey's body. He admitted he could not imagine what she was going through, though he had lost his wife.

"I don't know how I'd cope if I lost my daughter," he sat with her in the parlour drinking whisky, "she is very precious to me."

"How old is she?" Phryne asked, her voice small and sad.

"Nine," he smiled, "and a little minx. My mother helps with her, seeing she has clothes and is fed. My work ..."

"Not conducive to family life," she sipped her drink.

"Not as a single father, no," he admitted, "but we muddle through, somehow."

"I think she must be a very lucky girl to have a father like you," Phryne added wistfully, not being able to imagine him ever beating his daughter or locking her in a cupboard to break her spirit.

"That's decent of you," he smiled, "but I think I am the lucky one, having a daughter like her."

And so it was not until that fateful tenth birthday that Phryne-Rose met her namesake, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, and all because she and her father had cleared up a smuggling ring.


	3. I knew, you know

It was easier now that Phryne had met Jack's daughter; he seemed more relaxed round her though he still became a little exasperated when she appeared at a crime scene.

"I knew, you know," she smiled. They were sitting in the parlour; all her guests had gone home, it was just her and him left.

"Knew what?" he frowned a little frown.

"That it was you, at Lydia's ..."

"The Andrews case? You remembered me?"

"I did, but I guessed you didn't want to be recognised, well not then, and not in front of Hugh."

"I didn't think you did, even though I remembered you. You had changed, but it was your eyes, at first, you have the most memorable eyes." He blushed at being quite so forward.

"Oh, I couldn't forget you," she smiled and took his hand, turning it over and stroking his palm. "You were kinder than others," she didn't meet his gaze, "you talked to me as well as ... "

"It was another life, Phryne, unkind, dark, you made me realise life was for living ..."

"You said," she interrupted softly.

"... I did? I did. You were, and are, easy to talk to, and I think you needed to talk too." He reached over and stroked her cheek.

"It helped," she admitted.

"Anyway, I had better bid you good night, fair maid," he smiled.

"You could stay," she murmured, "unless ..."

"Perhaps not this time, Phryne," he stood up, though he couldn't deny he was tempted.

"I understand," she smiled, "I do," she added when he frowned just a little.

He kissed her cheek at the front door and she watched him head down the path and into his car.

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Phryne-Rose half woke up when she heard her father come in through the front door. He had said he might be late and bid her sweet dreams before he left to have Miss Fisher sign her statement.

"It's her birthday as well, love," he smiled, "so I might be persuaded to stay for a little while."

"You like her, dad, don't you?"

"I do," he laughed, "it's hard not to, even when she interferes in a case."

"It's ok, dad, for you to have a lady friend," she reached for his hand, "mum's been gone six years now and you're not that old."

He threw back his head and roared, "Cheeky madam, I don't need dating advice from you."

Phryne-Rose rolled her eyes, as far as she knew none of her school friends had such an easy relationship with their parent; when she had been invited to tea there had been much more deference to them. There had been no teasing, or cuddling and kissing, at least not in her presence.


	4. The pen

The girls filed into the classroom ready to start an English lesson. The weather was currently dreadful, high winds and torrential rain so the break had been spent either milling around the hallways or in the dining hall, gathered in groups and sipping glasses of milk or cups of hot chocolate. The school was nothing unusual, and Phryne-Rose knew she should be grateful that her father and grandfather saw fit to send her to a half decent establishment. Miss Fisher's ward, Jane, went to Warley Grammar but she knew that was too expensive for her father. Perhaps she could take the exams and be a scholarship girl, Jane had mentioned it one afternoon over tea and biscuits in Miss Fisher's kitchen.

"Only trouble is," Jane sighed, "scholarship girls get teased, sometimes bullied. 'Tisn't fair, of course, some of those that get their fees paid for because their parents are rich aren't the cleverest lot."

"It happens at the school I go to," Phryne-Rose huffed, "I've got it in the neck for knowing Miss Fisher. Some girls can be very unpleasant."

"Jealous, I expect."

"Mm," she nodded, "but one or two parents have stopped their daughters 'associating' with me because of something she did a while ago."

"Snobs," Jane sniffed, having a good idea what these parents were alluding to - that Miss Phryne had a number of 'gentlemen callers'. Though that seemed to have stopped, lately, in fact Miss Phryne didn't appear to have overnight guests of the male persuasion at all, these days, unless you counted the Inspector, and he didn't stay overnight. "Have you told your dad?"

"Not really," Phryne-Rose shrugged, "no reason to, they haven't hurt me."

"I'd go for the scholarship," Jane straightened up, "if they know you know me, at Warley, they'll give you a wide berth. They'll remember Marjorie."

"What happened to Marjorie?" the younger girl's eyes were wide with excitement.

"Some girls pinched her glasses and shoes and she had to walk home nearly blind and barefoot, I belted 'em," Jane was now rather embarrassed at the incident. "I got suspended, Aunt Prudence was horrified, but Miss Phryne sorted it out and threatened to take me to another school, but I'm too good for them to let me go, apparently."

"Would you want to leave?"

"God no! The library is wonderful, I love reading." Jane laughed, "and the science labs, they're quite forward thinking there ..."

"I'll ask dad if I can try, I think." Phryne-Rose tipped her head, the way the Inspector did when he was thinking, or exasperated at Miss Fisher.

"Good."

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Phryne-Rose chose the worst and possibly the best time to suggest she move schools. Her grandfather, George Sanderson, had been arrested for facilitating white slavery with his godson, Sydney Fletcher. George had been paying some of her school fees and Jack was wondering how he was going to fill the gap. He was a Senior Detective Inspector, but he wasn't a rich man.

"Well," he sighed as she put the suggestion to her, "if you think you can do it, I see no reason why you shouldn't try." He knew once the story got out, and it would, then she would probably be targeted at school. Parents once sympathetic to the motherless child would withdraw their support in the way of tea at their homes and friendships with their children.

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The news did leak out and Phryne-Rose's school suggested perhaps an extended term break for her.

"Just until the dust settles," the head had murmured primly, "I'd hate for her to be teased."

By 'teased' Jack knew she meant bullied because it had already started. Her new fountain pen, engraved for her and the nib ground especially to accommodate her left-handedness by Miss Fisher, had been stolen. It had been by chance that his daughter had discovered the thief. She had gone to the staff room to ask for something on behalf of another teacher and seen the history mistress using it to mark some books.

Phryne-Rose had instantly strode over to her and held out her hand.

"That's my pen," she smiled, "I'd like it back, please. I've been wondering who took it."

"Are you accusing me of stealing, child?"

"If the cap fits," she tipped her head, "please."

"And how can you identify it as yours? It's far too expensive for the child of a copper."

"My initials, PRR and the fact that the nib is ground for a left-hander. I expect you find it scratches."

"And if my initials are P R R?"

"They maybe, miss, but mine are P hyphen R R, and it was a gift," Phryne-Rose didn't move.

"Who would you know that would give a child ...?"

"You're new here, miss," she answered with the boredom of one of her father's suspects, "my father and I are friends with the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, and it was she that gave me the pen."

The teacher Phryne-Rose had come to see handed her the books she needed and whispered in the history mistress' ear. The pen was handed over and she left.

"Thank you," she skipped out, glad she would be leaving the school, who wants to be taught by thieves, she wasn't Oliver Twist of the Artful Dodger?

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"Oh," Jack leant over her as she finished the essay she was writing, to prove she was good enough for Warley Grammar, "you found your pen, Miss Fisher was wondering if she should mount a full scale investigation."

"One of the teachers," she went back to cross a 't', "the new history mistress, and she didn't want to give it back."

"But it has your initials ..."

"So I reminded her, and that is a special nib," Phryne-Rose turned round and smiled at him, "anyway, she handed it over, after the French mistress whispered something in her ear."

"I wonder if she's read the papers. Still, no matter, you won't be going back, not even if you aren't accepted into Warley."

She looked confused.

"The meeting I had, today," he sat down and pulled her onto his knee, "the head suggested you take a leave of absence, a long break."

"You mean she threw me out?"

He tipped his head and hummed.

"Snob!"

He couldn't argue with that.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally the sun had come out.

It had rained for days; sometimes the roads had been more like rivers and apart from being driven to and from school Phryne-Rose had stayed in the house. She had had cooking lessons from her grandmother and could now do a tasty roast, potatoes au gratin that were nearly as good as Mr Butler's and shortbread biscuits that melted in her father's mouth.

She had arranged to meet Jane, Miss Fisher's ward, on Saturday and go to the library and then to a cafe for lunch. Jack thought she had earned the treat and laughed at her sheer joy as she left the house and he headed to City South. Yes, it was Saturday, and yes, Miss Fisher had invited him to an art exhibition and lunch, but first he had some paperwork to finish. He wondered why she would invite him to an art exhibition, he was not particularly interested in art, per se, though if he liked a piece that was the way he rated it. Of course he had seen the art works in her house which included the Sarcelle nude - the one that made him blush! Still, a day in Phryne's company was worth being surrounded by the high minded, or art snobs as his mother would call them.

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The girls whiled away a couple of hours in the history section of the library; Jane was fascinated with Egyptology despite her brush with Murdoch Foyle, and Phryne-Rose with Greco-Roman history, ever since her father told her the story of the original Phryne.

"Shall we go for a walk, after lunch?" Jane slipped a book back onto the shelf, "I've been stuck inside for an age with this awful weather."

"Alright, where?" Phryne-Rose grinned.

"Along the river and into the gardens?"

"I'm supposed to meet dad at Miss Fisher's ... "

"She's going to an art exhibition, is she taking the Inspector?"

"I think so," Phryne-Rose thought for a moment, "though I don't know what he knows about art, music now that's another thing."

"Come on," Jane changed the subject, "let's go and eat."

They found a little cafe that would serve two young girls, after Jane had dropped Miss Fisher's name. They ate chicken pie and vegetables followed by ice cream and peaches and drank lemonade.

"Ooh, that was good," Jane sat back and sighed.

"Definitely need a walk now," Phryne-Rose laughed.

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They walked arm in arm along the river, talking about Miss Fisher and the Inspector, about school and how Phryne-Rose was happier at Warley than she had been at her other school.

"Nobody mentions my grandfather," she heaved a relieved sigh, "I don't get those suspicious looks."

"I'm surprised the teachers talked about it in front of the students," Jane huffed, "I mean surely that's up to the parents, isn't it?"

"Oh they talked too," Phryne-Rose snipped, "they would drag their precious little girls away from me, as if I had something to do with it. I'm as horrified as everybody else. It's dad I feel sorry for, being his son in law."

"He's come out of it remarkably unscathed, Miss Phryne says," her friend noted.

"I think she helps."

Jane just nodded.

They continued on, the ground was soft after all the rain and both mused that shoes would need to be cleaned when they got to their respective homes.

"What was that?" Jane suddenly grabbed her friend and stood listening.

"What?"

"Shush," she urged, "listen."

At first all they could hear was the rushing of the river and the few people that were in the gardens then ... a sort of mewling sound and a yelping, weak and shaky.

"It sounds like a baby," Jane whispered, "over there," she pointed to a series of shrubs. They walked nonchalantly over and checked no one was watching before starting to rummage through the undergrowth.

"Here," Phryne-Rose pushed aside a thick branch, "in here." She leant right in, then, not being able to quite reach what she was after, stepped into the shrubbery.

"P-R!" Jane called, urgently, "if the grounds-keeper catches you ..."

"Grab this," Phryne-Rose turned with a soggy cardboard box.

"What ...!"

"Grab it!" she thrust in at her friend.

Jane took the box while Phryne-Rose extricated herself from the foliage, catching and tearing her dress in the process.

"Drat!" she hissed, "gran'll kill me."

"Bet Dot can fix it," Jane hummed, "what's this?"

"Dunno, but that's where the noise came from," Phryne-Rose shrugged and went to open the top. "Oh ... oh you poor things," she gasped, "pups, Jane, it's pups ... one, two, three of them, Oh lor'!"

Indeed, in the box were three tiny puppies of indeterminate breed, shivering, half-starved and with barely any fur.

"We can't just leave them, what are we going to do?" Jane peered in.

"Take 'em home," Phryne-Rose took the box, "I've always wanted a dog."

"I don't think he's going to let you have three," Jane laughed.

"Well, you could have one, and I'm sure we could find a home for the last one," she started to walk towards the path, "come on."

"One of these - in Miss Phryne's house?" Jane gasped, "I don't think she'll let me, and Dot will have a fit!"

Phryne-Rose just shrugged and carried on, not wanting to tell her that Jack often said Miss Fisher tended to take in waifs and strays and included Jane in that statement. She was sure it would be fine, especially if they got the pups bathed before she saw them.

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Dot did indeed 'have a fit' when the girls turned up at the kitchen door with their burden.

"But, Dot," Jane implored, "they're God's creatures, just like the donkey in the zoo, you know, the one with the gammy leg ..."

"We have to do something," Phryne-Rose insisted. "Please, at least if we bath them they'll look more presentable."

Behind them Mr Butler smiled softly and went to one of the outbuildings where he was sure there was an old tin bath.

"Here, girls," he lifted it onto the table, "use this, warm water, just a little soap."

Dot raised her eyebrows and stared at Mr Butler. He just nodded and found an old towel the pups could be dried with.

"Where on earth did you find them?" she watched as each of the tiny scraps were gently placed in the bath, their little tails between their legs as they shivered with fear.

"Shoved in the bushes in the gardens," Jane held out her arms for the first pup, "they seem to have been abandoned, left to die I suppose."

"That's terrible," Dot agreed, "but what do you intend to do with them?"

"Well, I'm going to persuade dad to let me keep one ..." Phryne-Rose lifted the second pup out and placed it in the towel in Jane's hands, "we thought Jane could have one ..."

"I'm allergic to dogs," Dot sniffed, though so far she hadn't sneezed.

"Really?" Phryne-Rose gazed at her.

"Miss Fisher had a case at the footie ground, one of the men had a dog and Dot sneezed every time she came near it ..." Jane looked at Dot, "but that may just have been that particular breed ..."

"... and what breed is this one?"

"Dunno," Jane took the third pup and Mr Butler took the bath to empty it.

Mr Butler put three saucers of mashed potato and gravy, let down with a little milk on the table.

"They look like a cross breed, that could be why they were dumped," he murmured, "and too young to be leaving their mother, I'll be bound."

Jane put a little of the mush on her finger and held it close to a puppy's mouth. It licked cautiously but took the food and nudged for some more. While the girls encouraged the pups to take the food they discussed what mix of breeds they could be: what little fur they had was were predominately white, soft and slightly curled, Mr Butler thought a little like a poodle that hadn't been clipped into one of the fashionable style; one had black tips to its tail and ears and was named 'Tip' because of the markings, another had a black patch in the centre of its forehead and one black paw, Jane named that one 'Boot' and the third had a black patch round its left eye, Dot said it looked like it had been in a fight and suggested 'Scrapper'.

"I don't think they'll grow very big," Mr Butler picked up Tip and took him to the door, intending he should do his business outside; if they were to stay house-training them was a top priority. Jane and Phryne-Rose took the other two and placed them gently on the ground. None of them looked particularly happy but after a few minutes each pup had left a little pile and puddle, been praised and taken back into the warm kitchen, at which point Mr Butler handed an old coal shovel to Jane and nodded to the deposits. She supposed this would be a part of looking after a dog should they keep one, Boot was her favourite. She scooped up the mess and tipped it into the bin then poured a bucket of water over the quickly drying puddles.

While Dot scrubbed the table the girls sat with the pups on their knees and wondered what next. Phryne-Rose was rather impulsive and she had not thought beyond taking them home and bathing them. There were beds to think of, what they would have to eat and their day to day care.

They were discussing who they should offer the third pup to when Miss Fisher's voice floated through from the hall, the art exhibition and lunch must have finished.

"Hello, girls," she grinned, "good day?"

"Hello Miss Phryne," Jane carefully hid Boot under the table, or so she thought.

"Hello, dad," Phryne-Rose was less worried, "look what we found." She held up Tip. "Three, abandoned in a box in the gardens."

"And you brought them back," he went round to examine the pup, "scrappy little thing."

"Dad," Phryne-Rose huffed, "he's called Tip and I want to keep him; Jane has Boot," she pulled Jane up to show her choice, "and we were just wondering who to offer the third one to."

Jane blushed crimson, she had hoped to discuss it with Miss Fisher in a more private setting.

"Oh, I see," the lady detective approached. She looked at the one Mr Butler was holding and stroked her finger up his face and down his back. "I had a dog, once," she smiled, "Bodgy was his name, he had a deformed leg and was destined for the local river. He stayed at the family estate and became one of father's gun dogs."

"What about his deformed leg, Miss?" Dot asked, "surely he wouldn't be much use."

"Oh Bodgy never knew anything but only three useful legs, he got around well enough," she laughed. "So, you want to keep this one, Jane?"

"Erm, yes, that is I would like to, if you don't mind, Miss Phryne," Jane stuttered.

"You do realise I expect you to deal with his food, clean up after him and make sure he doesn't leave unpleasant deposits around the house. He won't be allowed up the stairs nor to lie on the furniture in the parlour." She turned to Dot, suddenly remembering her allergy, "now, Dot, how will you manage do you think?"

"Well, Miss," Dot wiped her hands on her apron, "so far I haven't sneezed so I suppose we could give it a try. They are rather sweet."

"What about Scrapper?" Jane nodded to the one Mr Butler had cradled in his hands.

"Oh," Miss Fisher smiled, "I think Scrapper has found his master, eh, Mr Butler?"

Mr Butler smiled sheepishly, "well, Miss," he pinkened slightly, "perhaps."

Jack rolled his eyes; it had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'no' but if Phryne was going to let two of the pups stay at Wardlow then he couldn't stop his daughter taking the other - not really.

"I don't expect your grandmother to pick up after him," he huffed, "your responsibility."

"Dad!" she shrieked, "oh, dad, thank you! I'll look after him, I promise!"

"Hm," he grimaced, "well, that remains to be seen."

"Jack," Miss Fisher teased, "don't be such a grump, the responsibility will do both of them good."

"Perhaps we should find them something to sleep in," Dot suggested, "a box, an old blanket or towel, and set it by the stove, to keep them warm."

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Against all of Jack's predictions the puppies thrived under the care of the girls and Mr Butler. Tip settled into an old apple box lined with a blanket and set by the stove in the kitchen at the Robinson house. Phryne-Rose got up early each morning and warmed up something mashed up from the previous night's dinner. She fed him slowly with her fingers, not minding if he nipped by accident, took him out to the garden to do his business and cleaned that up before breakfast.

By the time they were three months old they were fully house-trained, though chair legs were nibbled on occasion - mainly in the kitchen. Boot liked to lie on the rug in front of the fireplace in the parlour in the evenings, Scrapper was happy in the Butler's pantry with Mr Butler, where he might be lucky to be given a treat or two left over from the dining table.

All the pups' fur had grown, curled and soft, thick; but their breed remained a mystery. They still had a likeness to a poodle, but the head was less fine, the nose broader - Jack suggested some kind of terrier. Nobody cared; the girls walked them morning and evening after school and met up at the weekends to walk them in the gardens where they had been found.

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Phryne Fisher was known for hiding her feelings, but Boot knew better, and Boot would never tell how she felt for the Inspector. On evenings when she was alone she would confess her feelings for him, and for her namesake, Phryne-Rose, tell him her wishes and dreams much as she had done with Bodgy all those years ago, how she would one day mean something, something really special to someone ... now she did.

Oh, and Dot, well, she was only allergic to the dog from the footie club.


End file.
